


No Capes

by quelleheureestil



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Magic, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Superhero Derek, Superhero Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 01:50:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4329189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quelleheureestil/pseuds/quelleheureestil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> "Coming back to Beacon Hills is an exercise of self-restraint and sadism. Mobsters, each supporting their respective mob’s colors, linger on street corners, ready to beat someone in a moment’s notice. The homeless line the streets creating towns of their own within Beacon Hills proper. Translucent teens drift through alleys looking to score more cocaine, heroine, XTC." </i>
</p><p> </p><p>In which, mobs are everywhere, everyone's a superhero, Derek's trying to find answers, and, all the while, he's trying to not fall for a man with whiskey eyes who can't decide on his damn name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Capes

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh. I cannot believe I have finally finished this. This is the longest thing I've written to date, so go easy on me :)
> 
> Fabulous artwork on the way from Lumi :)
> 
> Big shout out to my friends for making this at all possible:  
> Rach, thank you for keeping me motivated and reminding me to celebrate the small advances :)  
> Susan, thank you for consistently talking to me these past couple days. It's definitely given me the push I needed to finish ^^  
> And a huge thanks for the SterekBB Skype group. You guys helped me blast through the first 15k in like a month. I wouldn't be anywhere near completion without you guys :)
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy!

Coming back to Beacon Hills is an exercise of self-restraint and sadism. Mobsters, each supporting their respective mob’s colors, linger on street corners, ready to beat someone in a moment’s notice. The homeless line the streets creating towns of their own within Beacon Hills proper. Translucent teens drift through alleys looking to score more cocaine, heroine, XTC.

 

When Derek was younger, Beacon Hills was better. Colored through the rose-colored glasses of time, Derek remembers movie theaters wafting smells of popcorn instead of gasoline, the water of the bay speckled with fish instead of corpses of mobsters, the sheriff’s department handcuffing bad guys instead of releasing them. Then again, his parents were around in those days.

 

The Hales were a powerhouse of social justice and reform. It was a classic case of citizens helping in places where government couldn’t. Need an orphanage but don’t have the funds? The Hales would start one. Don’t have cheap travel to help the working class? Guess what the Hale family would start working on.  Talia and Robert Hale were the richest people in Beacon Hills, but no one resented them for that fact because they were also the ones with the biggest hearts.

 

But after they died, after they were taken from him and Laura, it looks like Beacon Hills went to shit once more. At the time, Derek didn’t care. Why should he care about the shithole that leeched off his parents until they had no more to give? Until the city eventually ended up killing them? No. Derek didn’t give two fucks when he turned his back and left for New York with his sister.

 

If anything, he should be more furious with this place. He should be livid, shaking with fury at the fact that Beacon Hills managed to claim his last family member.

 

But now?  


Now, Derek is looking at the city through rose-colored glasses, seeing it as his parents did, seeing what it could be. What it could still be. What his parents wanted. That’s why Derek continues this exercise of self-restraint and sadism. That’s why Derek continues to work for this pipe dream. That’s why Derek goes out every night, not only looking for the men who took his parents and his sister, but also instilling fear into those who beat other people, who sell drugs to teenagers, who recruit for the mobs.

 

That is why Derek stays.

 

oXo

 

It’s been two months since Derek has wafted back into town, and he’s got nothing. Nada. Zip. No matter how many mobsters’ heads he bashes, no matter how many times he sinks claws into a scumbag, no one knows anything about him mom, dad, about Laura.

 

So he prowls.

 

Derek likes sticking to the shadows. He knows it’s all a bit clichéd, and his story is a bit like Batman’s but there’s a big difference. There’s no mutation that changes people, there’s no chemical spill that creates villains. Here, there are monsters. Here, there is magic. Here, there are things that go bump in the night, and while there might not be anything there, that doesn’t mean that you just imagined it.

 

Derek sticks to the shadows and only goes out at night because people find confidence in the dark. They find the ability to sell that crack to the 16-year-old rebel, to shoot the other mobs second in command, to dabble in magic too dark to ever come back from.

 

It’s where Derek can find answers. Or at least, that was the plan until he couldn’t find anyone with information. But tonight would be different. Some of the Alpha Pack’s guys are going to be making a trade with some of the Druids. From what Derek can remember, the head of the Alpha Pack knew his mom, swiftly putting him at the top of the list of people Derek wants to talk to.

 

The solitude of the dock combined with the lack of security cameras and a greedy dockhand make it an ideal place for illegal activities to occur. A large shipment has come in, blood runes from what Derek can tell, and the Alpha’s are interested in purchasing the load. For what, Derek doesn’t know, but nothing good has ever come from blood magic.

 

“All we’re asking is for a fair price.” The snide snivel of one of the Alpha’s men echoed through the docks.

 

“The price we request is more than fair. Do you realize how difficult it is to procure blood runes of this magnitude?” The calm drawl of one of the Druids contrasts the man’s voice greatly.

 

“Yeah, something with a fewer fucking zeros for starters…” Derek cuts the lights a swift strike of his claws. “Uh, Greenberg? We’re still here, man.” Derek gently leaps from the top dock area and lands in the shadow of the cargo container. Eyes glowing red and a growl resonating from deep in his chest, Derek steps forward. The Druids and Alphas turn to look with quirked brows and pale faces.

 

“B-b-b-boss?” The sniveling man quivers. The Druids toss something in the air and, with a cloud of smoke masking their scents, vanish. A few men in the back of the Alpha crowd take the chance to run. Derek grabs the man by his throat and pins him to the shipping container.

 

“Think. Again.” He growls. The man in his grip whimpers and claws at his hand.

 

“Who the fuck are you?”

 

“I want information.”

  
“And I want a fucking pony.” Derek lifts up and slams the man into the cargo container.

 

“Who carried out the hit on the Hales?”

 

“Hales? Never heard of ‘em.” Derek’s grip tightened.

 

“Eight years ago; who did it?”

 

“The Ha-Oh, the Hales! I don’t know man. I was just a minnow in the pond at that point!” Derek slowly raises the man off the ground. “Alright! Alright. All I know is at that point, the Duke was talking about a crazy bitch going off the rails from the Argent’s team, man. But seriously, that’s all I know.”

 

Derek holds the man up for a beat longer before releasing him. The man staggers off to the side before regaining his posture.

 

“What the fuck are you guys waiting for? Shoot him!” Derek hears the metallic clangs of guns being cocked and turns to see no less than ten guns pointed at him.

 

The first bullet tears through his right bicep. The acrid smell of wolfsbane coils through Derek’s nose causing him to hunch over gagging. Burning knives flood down his arm, and Derek can feel the air whipping past him from near misses.

 

Ducking left, Derek takes down the rat of a man before taking cover behind a shipping container, and when he looks, Derek realizes he had just backed himself into a corner. He can hear the others calling orders. _Come on, guys. Get your heads out of your asses. He can’t take us all._

 

And he couldn’t. But he sure as hell could go down swinging.

 

Staggering away from the container, Derek moves to the edge of the container, trying to work through the pain that was steadily working its way through his body. Just as the men began to round the corner, a figure dropped in front of him and tackles the first man in the mob, fist connecting with bone.

 

Long and lean, the figure slithers around the mob, knocking guns out of the reach of slimy hands. Elbows connect with eye sockets, knees to stomachs. More than one man crawls away on all fours. Derek leans against the shipping container, struggling to breath. Each breath sends a stabbing, twisting wrought iron poker through his heart. His arm feels like dead weight. Eventually the mobsters that are left wise up and head for the hills, dragging their friends with them.

 

The figure, now blurry and dark, presses something in his ear and mutters something Derek can’t make out over gasping of his breathing. The figure approaches, crouches, and grabs his face, looking at him closely. Whiskey eyes peer out from behind a black mask. Derek bares his teeth at those eyes, unable to do anything more. The pain has leeched its way through the entirety his chest, and is slowly making its was up his neck into the base of his brain. The figure leaves, and Derek lets his head fall against the container. Darkness washes over him, and the pain actually begins to fade into numbness.

 

 _Fire_.

 

Derek arches away from the container as fire licks through his veins, starting at his brain and chest and running the length of his body. He’s burning alive. Fire consumes the inside of his chest. Then it retreats. Slowly, leisurely, the fire crawls back to wherever it came from, branding him as it pulls through his veins, across his chest, and down his right arm before leaving all together.

 

When Derek comes to, the only things that let him know he didn’t imagine the entire thing are an empty gun shell, a spray-painted “BHH” written in red, sprawling scrawl, and the smell of citrus, vanilla, and ozone.

 

oXo

 

The next time Derek ran into him, the guy, the _BHH guy_ was pinned to a wall by two low life druids, and by the looks of it, the druids were putting their blood runes to work. BHH guy was pinned to the wall, one of the druids holding a forearm across his throat while the other had a knife and a vial held to the guy’s arm.

 

Not being almost dead let Derek get a good look at the BHH guy that had plagued his thoughts for the past two weeks. Derek was pissed off that his real first possible lead got away, but he had gotten some useful information from the rat of a man before everything went to shit; however, Derek couldn’t stop thinking about the lanky man after he had dragged himself home. The way he moved so gracefully during a fight, the way he smelt of ozone, hinting that he had some sort of magic, the way his eyes held Derek in place until the guy could shove burnt wolfsbane into the bullet hole.

 

Derek couldn’t stop thinking about the man as he followed up on the lead from the rat man. While all the mobs are terrible in Beacon Hills, the Argents are probably the worst because they are the most connected and somehow the most mysterious. No one knows the structure, no one knows what they want, no one knows who their contacts are. Derek has been out every night for information, and every night, Derek comes up empty handed. Mobsters are easy to flip, but the way the Argents run their business, no one knows anything.

 

Derek was out patrolling tonight, looking for anyone to take his frustrations out on when he heard scuffling, swearing, the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and then a silence that was too taunting from the alley between the old car factory and the old pay-by-the-hour hotel. Going to investigate, Derek saw the man and the two druids.

 

Stepping silently and swiftly, Derek slams the heads of the druids together before being thrown off by an invisible force. The druids stumble away from the BHH guy, and he drops on the ground to all fours. Derek scents blood in the air.

 

The druids come after Derek, hands in their pockets, ready to throw something, but Derek gets to them first. With a crack of a nose and a thud of a stomach, the druids stay down. When Derek turns around to check on the BHH guy, he’s met with an empty patch of ground.

 

oXo

 

“What the fuck, man?” Argent’s man howls from under Derek. After the druid debacle a couple days ago, Derek was able to find information about a bar that’s frequented by some of Argent’s men. This one just happened to be stupid enough to go out by himself for a smoke.

 

“What do you know about the murder of the Hale family?”

 

“Are you fucking serious, dude? How am I supposed to know about everyone who dies in this damn town?” Derek rolls his eyes. Same shit, different day.

 

“I heard that Argent had a crazy bitch who went off the tracks around the same time, she stopped following orders, did her own thing. Sound familiar?”

 

“How fucking long ago was that?” The man squirms in Derek’s grip. Tightening the arm around the man’s arm until he hears it creak dangerously, Derek says, “Eight. Years.”

 

“I don’t know! I don’t know, dude! Shit, you’re gonna break my arm. I swear to God, I don’t know anything!” Derek doesn’t hear a lie in the man’s heartbeat, so he releases him, and with a quick toss, the mobster’s on his back in the middle of the alley.

 

Derek’s about to stalk away when he hears movement behind him.

 

“You sonuva—”

 

“It’s really not nice to attack someone when their back’s turned.” A voice as smooth as honey floods the alley. When Derek turns around and sees the guy, the BHH guy, holding Argent’s man against the alley wall just like Derek had him minutes ago. With a swift sweep of his elbow, the BHH guy knocks out Argent’s man. He’s reaching for what looks like a marker on his belt when Derek gets to him.

 

“Who the hell are you?” Derek growls, pinning the younger man to the brick wall of the alley. He’s wearing a black mask that covers the top half of his face, two red lines cutting at a diagonal down his left eye. Whiskey eyes peering at Derek through the mask, man studies him for a moment before rasping in a voice that was obviously not his own, “I’m Batman.”

 

Through the piece of technology hooked securely on the man’s left ear, Derek hears quite a few voices state together, “No you’re not.” He huffs a breath and rolls his eyes as he somehow wriggles a hand up to press the ear piece and says, “Thanks guys, you just blew my cover.” Derek glares at the man.

 

“I should ask you the same question, dude. You’ve been encroaching on our territory. And not in a good way, I might add.” The BHH guy smacks Derek’s shoulder with the back of his hand like they were old friends catching up. Derek glares at him harder, and the man rolls his eyes. “Okay then, grumps. Looks like we’re at a stalemate.”

 

“Unless I rip your throat out. With my teeth.” Derek lets his eyes bleed to red, and the man gapes at him before crowing in delight. Derek feels a confused brow quirk on its own. The guy manages to wriggle his hand up to his ear once more.

 

“Scotty, I found you a friend!” Derek hears an annoyed huff from the earpiece.

 

“You know you’re not supposed to use my actual name when we’re in the field, dude.” The man waves his hand as though ‘Scotty’ can see him before responding with a, “Semantics, dude. Anyway, I’m serious. I’m bringing him back to the hou—I mean, headquarters.” The guy quirks a sarcastic smile as he corrects himself. Derek scoffs.

 

“You think so?” Derek rasps before letting go and taking a few steps, but the man expands into the space he’s created.

 

“Yeah, man. Otherwise I’m gonna knock you out and call the cops. You’re choice.” An amused grin spreads along the man’s face, hand propped on a cocked hip, and he looks at Derek expectantly. He could probably disappear before the guy even realizes it, but the way the guy’s hand was drifting towards his pocket wasn’t reassuring.

 

The irritation of ceding must’ve shown on his face because the guy crowed with victory once more.

 

“Come on, dude. Follow me.” With a loping motion, the guy sprints towards the end of the alleyway, disappearing around the corner. Derek huffs a sigh before following.

 

oXo

 

“This is your ‘headquarters’?” Derek deadpans. The house is nothing special: two floors, the outside clean but rundown. The guy, who was still refusing to tell Derek his name even though Derek didn’t outright ask for it, grins and motions him to follow once more.

 

The guy lets himself into the house, and Derek is met with four accusatory and curious looks. Derek cocks a brow. The BHH guy rambles to the group as he toes off his boots, but no one else says a word. The smell of a foreign wolf washes over him like someone’s tossed a bucket of water at him. He’d recognize the mixture of earth, human, and something undeniably wild anywhere.

 

“And I almost didn’t believe it when his eyes changed, too! But his are red, not gold like yours, Scotty.” The tanned man standing directly in front of Derek groans.

 

“Stiles, how many times do I have to tell you, _you’re not supposed to say my real name_. You’re the superhero buff. Isn’t that like rule one?” Derek looks over at the BHH guy, _Stiles_. What kind of name is that? Stiles just smiles and shrugs.

 

“Unless you’re Iron Man, dude.” Scott rolls his eyes, and Stiles pushes past the group. After a moment’s hesitation, the two girls and the other guy follow Stiles, but Scott watches Derek warily until Derek follows the group. 

 

He’s led to what looks like a dining room, but it’s stuffed to the brim with papers, maps, and what looks like two police issued glass boards. Derek takes the first open seat, crosses his arms, and glances around the room. From what he can see, there are police files, arrest reports, and handwritten notes scattered about the room.

 

“So who are you?” Scott asks from where he’s standing from across the table. Derek raises an eyebrow.

 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you the same question? Seeing as you kidnapped me and all.” A squawk breaks Scott and Derek’s eye contact.

 

“I did not kidnap you! I just persuaded you. Nicely.” Stiles’ arms flail around a bit. This contrasts greatly to the images in Derek’s mind from the last time they met. Stiles was graceful and fluid in the fight with the Alpha Pack’s men. In person, he looks like he’s a few minutes away from accidentally knocking someone out or possibly himself.

 

Derek shoots him a look of disbelief. Stiles sticks his tongue out at Derek. He’s not wearing his mask anymore, and somehow, Stiles looks exactly the same yet different. His eyes look a lot bigger without the mask harshly outlining them. Stiles is also a lot paler than Derek originally thought, and his skin only marred by a smattering of moles. His mouth looks sinfully bigger, more plush, now that the mask wasn’t distracting Derek.

 

Derek rips his eyes back to the whiskey eyes before Stiles can call him out for staring. Stiles retracts his tongue and huffs a breath before plopping into the seat adjacent to Derek.

 

“I’m Stiles, obviously. That’s Scott.” Scott narrows his eyes at Stiles before nodding towards Derek. “That’s Lydia, light of my life.” Derek’s mouth tightens as Stiles points to the short of the two girls. She has reddish hair and is wearing a dress and really high heels. “Allison.” The taller of the two has dark brown hair, and she’s clutching a miniature crossbow, her hand tight, but her finger’s not on the trigger. “And last, but not least, Danny.” Danny was tall and fit, also tanned but not as much as Scott, and he is currently checking Derek out. Derek bares his teeth at him, but Danny just smiles and winks.

 

Stiles pulls his attention back when he leans forward, elbows on his knees and hands laced under his chin. He looks at Derek expectantly.

 

“Derek,” he grunts out. Stiles raises an eyebrow after a moment of silence, and he rolls his wrist in a ‘continue’ kind of motion. “What?”

 

“What’s your favorite color?” Stiles rolls his eyes, pushing even further into Derek’s space until their knees are barely touching. “Why are you here? Why do you keep getting beat up and shot by mobsters?”

 

“I like the pain.” Derek snarks back. Stiles snorts.

 

“I don’t doubt that for a second, grumpy.” Scott steps forward after shooting Stiles a warning look.

 

“Stiles said that your eyes flashed like mine, just a different color. Are you...?” Scott hesitates, shoulders slumping a bit. Derek stares at him, and Scott seems to shake himself, straightening up. “A wolf. A werewolf. Like me?”

 

Derek flashes his eyes at Scott, and Scott’s flashes in return, unable to resist the pull from an alpha.

 

“I’m an alpha.” Derek grunts.

 

“And, I’m…?” Scott hesitates again.

 

“An omega. Where’s your alpha?” Derek didn’t smell any other wolf, in town or in this house, recently. Scott scratches the back of his neck but didn’t answer.

 

“Why are you here?” The smaller girl, Lydia, asks again. Her voice is tense, more cold than he imagined, the type of voice that didn’t leave any room for bullshit or arguing. It must’ve looked like Derek wasn’t going to answer because Stiles drawls, “Quid pro quo, Clarisse.”

 

“Answers,” Derek replies shortly, glaring at the edge of the board labeled ‘Argents.’ “What is all of this?” When no one answers, Derek swings around to look at Stiles and snidely repeats, “Quid. Pro. Quo.” Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“Headquarters, dude.”

 

“For what? And don’t call me dude.”

 

“Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but the town is kinda shit, _dude_.”  


“No way. Since when?”

 

“Oh, you think you’re cute.”

 

“If you’re done flirting.” A new man stands in the doorway. He’s older, gray touching his temples and his face cut with slight wrinkles. Stiles turns bright red, and the bittersweet scent of embarrassment curls in Derek’s nose. It smells like dark chocolate that has a dash of chili powder.

 

“Dad! I thought you were on a double tonight?” Stiles scrambles to stand, and after a brief moment of jerky flailing, he gives his dad a hug.

 

“I was until I got a report of a knocked out Argent thug and the fleeing of two suspects. One of which I knew the description of, the other sounding unfamiliar.” Firm blue eyes meet Derek’s.

 

“Dad, Derek. Derek, this is my dad.” Stiles’ dad offers a hand, and when Derek stands to shake it, Stiles’ dad introduces himself as “Sheriff Stilinski.”

 

And Derek knows, breath punching out of his chest. He doesn’t look much different from that day that is now literally burned into his mind. Sure, a bit more wrinkles, a bit wider, a bit more hardened, but still the same man underneath everything. The scent of whiskey has strengthened over the years, and the smell of ash is no longer there.

 

“Derek, sir.” Derek grips the sheriff’s hand firmly, and there’s a spark of recognition in the sheriff’s eyes, the sudden widening, and the smell of regret, sadness.

 

“How do you know this group, Derek?”

 

“I don’t.” The sheriff raises a skeptical eyebrow at Derek’s abrupt answer and turns to look at his son. Stiles just shrugs and does a half nod. Derek rolls his eyes.

 

“You just led a man, a random man, into our house when you have all of” the sheriff gestures around the dining room, “this shit lying around?”

 

“It sounds a lot worse when you put it that way,” Stiles trails off, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head and messing up his hair.

 

“Stiles said that Derek could probably help us out, John,” Scott says jumping to Stiles’ rescue. Danny snorts.

 

“I know something he could help me out with,” he mutters. Lydia elbows him firmly in the gut.

 

“I’m not exactly a team player. Look, I’ll stay out of your way if that’s what you’re worried about.” And with that, Derek stands and pushes his way to the door leaving Stiles’ sputtering audibly and Danny’s low, dragged out “damn” behind him.

 

Just before he takes off, he hears Stiles’ ask, “What crawled up his ass and died?” Derek snorts and runs to see if he can’t poach another Argent before night’s end.

 

oXo

 

Goosebumps litter Derek’s arms. There’s an itch at the back of his neck. The burn of eyes on his skin is undeniable. He can’t shake the feeling no matter how hard he tries.

 

It’s been a week since he met Stiles and the group, and that feeling has been following him for at least the past five days, so he has an idea as to who’s causing this sensation, but the lack of scent is causing trouble in catching whomever it is.

 

The void in his senses is off putting. Derek is used to being overwhelmed in sensory data: seeing too far, smelling too much, listening to too many things. This blank space is like a hole ripped right into Derek’s life, a tangible hole. And while it should be relieving, to have a little less to overwhelm him, it sets his teeth on edge.

 

And he doesn’t know what to do for days, so he grits his teeth and works through it. He pushes through the disconcertment as he knocks out a man selling XTC to a kid. He wrangles back the unsettling feeling as he wrestles cursed crystals from a Druid and throws them as far as he can into the bay. He’s just about to go crazy with this hole until Derek realizes that the trail of pure nothing is just that: a trail. It’s almost like following a smell, but it’s following the absence of scent.

 

And that’s how Derek finds himself pressing Stiles against a building with an arm over Stiles’ collarbones.

 

“Déjà-vu or what, man?” Stiles says as his face floods with red. “How’d you know it was me?”

 

“You’re not exactly subtle.” Derek pushes off of him roughly. As Stiles rubs at his chest, Derek notices that he’s wearing his mask again, but this time Derek takes note of his outfit. Stiles is wearing what looks like a jumpsuit, black from head to toe, combat boots that reach just below his knees, also black, and there are various pockets on the lower half, some red, some gold. “Who are you supposed to be?

 

“Pssh, excuse you. I am the epitome of subtlety. And I’m Iron Man. Duh,” Stiles says as he stumbles into the only other person on the sidewalk. Derek scoffs at him, and Stiles cheerfully raises his middle finger.

 

“What do you want?”

 

“Well,” Stiles brushes off his shoulders, “we’ve been getting reports of a jackass looming all over the place and knocking people out. And that jackass isn’t one of us.” Derek shrugs.

 

“So?”

 

“So, you said you’d stay out of our way, and you’ve been doing the exact opposite, big guy. You’ve been all up in our way. Like if we were a train, you’d be a tank on the tracks.” Derek looks at Stiles skeptically.

 

“If anything, you’ve been purposefully getting in _my_ way with that fancy little trick of yours. By the way, when masking yourself from a werewolf, make it so it just gets rid of your smell, not all the smells.” Derek turns on heel and begins to walk away from a sputtering Stiles.

 

He hears footsteps running towards him once he’s made it a good twenty feet, and Derek resists the urge to take off running as well.

 

“Seriously, dude. We have plans. Plans that you have screwed up. Plans that could result in big, and good, things happening for the town, and when you go all,” Stiles drops his voice a couple octaves, “‘lone wolf, I take out all the bad guys with no sense of purpose,’ it really fucks with our system. You dig?”

 

Derek stops in the middle of the sidewalk, catching Stiles in the stomach with one of his arms.

 

“What do you want me to do about it?” It wasn’t meant to be a genuine question, honestly, it wasn’t. But of course, Stiles takes it as an open invitation.

 

“Join us,” Stiles grins.

 

oXo

 

Back at Stiles’ house, Derek sits in the living room with his arms crossed watching Lydia tinker with something that looks like an arrow while Stiles, Scott, Allison, and Danny all argue upstairs.

 

Normally, Derek wouldn’t have any trouble hearing what they are arguing about, but Derek is pretty sure that Stiles pulled out another one of his magic tricks because when Derek goes to extend his hearing to upstairs, all he gets is the sound of buzzing, like there are a hundred wasp’s nests up there.

 

“Why aren’t you up there?” Derek asks after about ten minutes. Lydia finishes with her screwdriver before fixing him with a cool gaze.

 

“They already know my opinions on the matter, and they’re not going to change, so I might as well do something useful.” She turns her attention back to the arrow; picking up a tool that makes a high pitched humming noise as she works.

 

Derek rolls his eyes to himself.

 

The way that Stiles set up the situation as he forced Derek to come back to ‘headquarters’ again, it was a done deal. Derek joins the, Jesus Christ, the Beacon Hill Heroes, or they would run him out of town. When they showed up, however, Scott fixed Stiles with an angry look and pulled everyone upstairs.

 

And now Derek is stuck with the ice queen. It takes five more minutes until Derek is just ready to walk out the door, but the glare he receives from Lydia as he goes to stand fixes him more firmly to his chair.

 

Just as Derek’s claws start to prick at his fingertips from a crawling anxiety, footsteps come down the stairs. Three pairs are measured and steady, and the other pair is loping, erratic, stumbling.

 

When the four finally round the corner, he’s met with stern looks.

 

“So here’s the deal. You will join us, or we’ll make you leave town.” Scott’s voice is firm and unwavering. Derek rolls his eyes but nods.

 

“But there’s a condition,” Allison pipes up from Scott’s right. She’s twitching like she’s fighting the urge to reach for the bow that’s on her back.

 

“You’ll be paired with one of us at all times because we don’t trust you!” Stiles says it so cheerfully, so matter of fact causing Derek to snort.

 

“And Stiles so graciously volunteered,” Danny says smirking as Stiles flushed.

 

“Only!” Stiles yelps, “Only because we’ve technically fought together before. And it was pretty good. Easy like, you know?” Scott rolls his eyes at his friend and shakes his head fondly.

 

“Whatever, dude. Derek, do you agree?” Scott’s eyes narrow at Derek, going from friendly puppy dog to determined leader in a fraction of a moment.

 

Derek resists the urge to reiterate the fact that he works alone, that everyone close to him gets hurt, because, he rationalizes to himself, that the only way for him to find out what happened to his family is to be in town and have connections which he is currently lacking.

 

Blowing out a breath as he does so, Derek nods.

 

“Fine, yes, I agree.”

 

Scott smiles while Allison looks more uncomfortable. Her eyebrows are pinched together, and her mouth is twisted into a frown. Lydia gets up, carrying the arrow, and hip-checks Allison before handing her the arrow. They share a small smile before turning back to Derek.

 

“Even to partnering with Stiles? He’s such a spaz,” Danny says as he ruffles Stiles’ hair.

 

“Dude, I’m so not!” Stiles flails away from Danny and bangs his shoulder against the living room wall. Derek stops himself from dropping his face into his hands, but it’s a near miss.

 

oXo

 

“What is all of this?”

 

They’re all back in the dining room with the exception of Allison and Lydia, who are downstairs testing out the new arrow Lydia made for Allison, and Derek’s taking a closer look at the newspaper clippings and police files attached to the walls.

 

“Information, dude. Duh.” Stiles is sitting at the head chair with his ankles crossed on top of the table. Scott hits the back of his head causing Stiles to fall forward and nearly out of the chair. Rubbing the back of his head and playfully glaring at Scott, he stands up, all lean legs and long arms and lengthy fingers threading through his hair.

 

Derek shakes his head and tears his eyes back to the files.

 

“I meant what is all this for.” There are maps with pins in them, yarn connecting the pins, mug shots of low-level mobsters, candid photos of higher ups with their names scrawled in what looks like Sharpie directly on the photo, schematics of warehouses, designs for little gadgets. “And what would you guys do if someone came in here?”

 

“People don’t come here. This is the only reason you’re being put on the team.” Scott’s looking at him again with that calculating look in his eye. “We’re going to take down the Alpha Pack.” At that, Derek cocks an eyebrow. He knows that his disbelief is coming across on his face.

 

“Really. And how are you going to do that?”

 

“It’s simple. We kill the Batman.” Everyone looks at Stiles with varying degrees of annoyance and amusement. “What? You set that up perfectly! How could I not take that?”

 

“Even with detective shows showing what a stupid idea it is to use traceable tech when committing illegal acts, you’d be surprised how many thugs are still that stupid,” Danny says completely ignoring Stiles. “According to a lot of their text messages, emails, and whatnot, there’s been something of a power struggle in effect for a while now.” Danny pulls out his laptop and opens up a few windows.

 

_From: Frankie_

_To: Angelou_

 

Broooo. The twins r so pissed at Duke. He wuldnt let them have the hookers brought down for their b-day cuz Kali wanted more guys or sumthin.

 

_From: Eddy_

_To: Freddy_

I think Kali punched Ennis. His face is all fucked up, and Kali’s hand is all fucked up and neither are healing fast.

 

_From: Mikey_

_To: Igor_

Duke threw his cane at Aiden. Like pointy knife cane. Right at his face. There’s blood everywhere, and I think he’s gonna make me clean it up.

 

_From: Mikey_

_To: Igor_

 

He did.

 

“Now, if this was a mob that was set up the usual way, a pyramid hierarchy, it would be a pretty big problem. However, this is a ‘wolf mob, and there are five alphas that run it.” Scott points to different candid shots. “Kali, Ennis, Aiden, Ethan, and at the head of the pack, which we’re still not sure how _that_ works, is Deucalion AKA the Duke or just Duke.”  


“Wait, there’s a pack of alphas, but there’s an alpha of the alphas. That shouldn’t be possible.” The whole point of the pack hierarchy is to have a single alpha, sometimes an alpha pair, to lead betas. Scott looks at Danny who shrugs helplessly.

 

“Everything I found said the same thing, but the information I’ve found and the recon the others have done has pointed to this set up.”

 

“Anyway,” Stiles interjects, “that’s just going to help bring them down, right? Because an alpha should be in charge, meaning it’s in their nature to want power. Deucalion’s had all of their nuts, or ovaries in Kali’s case I guess, in a vice meaning they’re unhappy. We swoop in and shake things up a bit, and it all comes crumbling down.”

 

“Why haven’t you given this information to the cops? You’re dad’s the sheriff.” It would be safer for trained professionals to go in as compared to kids in their early twenties with nothing but little gadgets to save them.

 

Stiles snorts.

 

“We’ve tried that, dude, but every time they go to set something up, either an undercover cop or a trap or something, they know that they’re coming. The department’s full of leaks, but this one is super good at getting secret information.”

 

“That’s where we come in,” Scott says from his place next to one of the dry erase boards. “We’ve been spread kinda thin since there’s only three of us that go out into the field—”

 

“I’m not getting murdered,” Danny mutters.

 

“—So with your help, we should be able to get some stuff together. Stealing drugs, relocating weapons, taking out some of the Alpha’s personal gang members, that kind of thing. It should upset the balance just enough that they’ll implode from the inside out.” Scott beams at Stiles, obviously proud that his plan is coming together. Stiles rolls his eyes.

 

“Implode means to collapse. You could’ve just said implode.” Scott tackles Stiles, and they begin to wrestle on the floor, knocking things over and tearing papers off the wall. Danny steps around them, laptop clutched safely in his arms.

 

“Let’s leave these children, and get you set up with some of Lydia’s tech,” Danny sniffs. Both had just exited the room when there’s a loud bang and two low groans quickly followed by guilty “We’re okay!”s.

 

oXo

 

“This is the listening device that I created.” Lydia holds up a tiny tan blurb that looks too small to be much of anything. “I’ve tuned it to the same frequency and volume that I put Scott’s, so hopefully it won’t overwhelm you.” Her voice is clipped. It’s not rude, but it’s definitely not welcoming. Professional and knowledgeable. “You’re a werewolf, so you’re going to need a few samples of common wolfsbane strands. What do you normally wear when you go out?” Her eyes sear at Derek’s clothing: comfortable jeans, Henley, dark hoodie, work boots.

 

“Why?” Lydia rolls her eyes and makes a few notes on a notepad near by.

 

“We’re going have to get you something that’s sturdier and that has more pockets.”

 

“You’re giving me a super suit,” Derek deadpans. Lydia delicately rolls her eyes.

 

“Take it as a rule of thumb to not listen to Stiles about anything superhero related.”

 

“Hey! I’m right here.” Stiles holds a bag of frozen peas to his head while an apologetic Scott looks on. Turns out the “We’re okay!”s weren’t as accurate as they originally thought. Stiles has a big welt on his head that is only being kept at bay by the peas.

 

“You constantly call yourself a superhero, and yet you got knocked out by a chair.” Lydia crossed her arms, and a smirk plays across her face.

 

“To be fair! It wasn’t just a chair. It was me being tackled into a chair by a supernatural being. So, if we’re being honest, I held my own quite well.” Stiles pouts, dragging Derek’s gaze to his lips. It’s undeniable that Stiles is attractive, all lean limbs and pale skin, but when he does things like this, drawing attention to his sinful features, Derek has to resist the urge to do something drastic. Whether that is taking him on the table in front of everyone or punching him, Derek doesn’t know.

 

“Give me a week or so, and I can have you a ‘super suit.’ If I waste my time on this, I will be very upset.” When Lydia threatens people, it doesn’t sound like a threat. It sounds so matter of fact that it sounds inherently more threatening if that’s possible, so Derek sticks with a safe bet and just nods. Her cool eyes pierce his as she nods in return.

 

What did he get himself into?

 

oXo

 

A couple days later, Derek can’t stop fidgeting. The soft and supple interior of the super suit (as much as he started calling it that ironically, Derek can’t stop calling it his super suit now) feels nice on his skin. It breathes and is light enough that it doesn’t overwhelm Derek’s sense. It can’t, however, take away from the fact that it is the stiffest material Derek has ever tried to move in. It crunches, squeaks, rustles, and above all, cuts his flexibility and motion in half.

 

“It’ll get better,” Stiles drops next to him. “It may take a week of weird moving and stretching in it, but then it fits and feels like perfection.”

 

Derek’s attire now resembles the rest of the teams wear. Super suit, Derek’s with red and gray pockets, combat boots that fit superbly, and a mask. Each team member’s mask is different in shape and color. Scott’s mask is bold and blocky and is gold and dark green in color. Allison’s is green and black, delicate yet sturdy. Derek’s mask takes after Scott’s to an extent. It’s blocky, but also holds a certain softness to it. His colors, red and gray, are shown in a way that Stiles’ are: the mask is black, and there is a red and a gray stripe cutting at a diagonal through his right eye.

 

  
“I don’t understand why we have to wear these.” Derek walks a step ahead of Stiles as they walk to the fire escape towards the back of the alley.

 

“Secret identity, dude.” Stiles sounds way too happy.

 

“You realize why superheroes need secret identities, right? So they don’t die in public, horrible ways.”

 

“Psh, like anyone could catch me.”

 

“What about your dad?” Derek knows it’s a low blow. The little interaction he’s seen between the two, it’s easy to see that they’re close. Stiles stops walking, so Derek turns to look at him.

 

“He knows the risk. He’s the one who made this all possible.” Stiles brushes past Derek and vaults up the fire escape. It still astounds Derek that Stiles can be so clumsy in his day-to-day life, but as soon as they ‘suit up,’ he’s nothing but grace. “Are you coming or what, sourwolf?”

 

Derek sneers up at him but imitates his motions and pulls himself up next to Stiles.

 

“Oh, sorry. _Alpha_.” Derek snorts.

 

_“Do we seriously have to do code names?” Derek groaned. Stiles was vibrating in his chair in glee while Scott looked at him solemnly._

_“Yeah. It’s important that no one knows who we are.” God, he sounded like a freaking cult commercial or something. “Allison is Hot Shot, Lydia is the Queen of Hearts, Danny’s the Jack of Spades, and I’m the Wolf.”_

_“What about Stiles?” Everyone looked towards the man in question. He leaned forward, and in a dramatic tone, Stiles declared,_

_“I am The Green Arrow.” Everyone groaned._

_“He pulls shit like this, so we kinda just say ‘Hey you,’ and he responds,” Allison said, a fond smile tugging at her face as she looks at Stiles._

_“So what about me?” Derek asked, eyebrows raised._

 

“Alpha, do you copy?” Derek sighs as Stiles cackles next to him. He wipes an imaginary tear and pounds Derek’s back. Derek presses a finger to his ear to speak to Scott even though he’s told that it’ll transmit even if he doesn’t. _It’s weird to just talk to yourself, Derek_ , Stiles had said.

 

“Yeah, I copy.” Derek rolls his eyes. It’s shitty cop T.V. lingo that they’re using, but he had just gotten weird looks from the others when he pointed it out.

 

“Are you two in position yet?” Derek hears something that sounds suspiciously like Danny muttering, “Stiles wishes.”

 

“Getting there now.” Stiles and Derek exchange looks before running across the building before jumping the gap to the next warehouse. Treading lightly, they creep over to where the skylight is. Stiles grips the latch and works it slowly back and forth, his face growing steadily red under his mask, until the rust gives way and the latch moves. “We’re good to go on your mark.”

 

Out front of the warehouse, Allison and Scott stumble out from the alleyway dressed in their normal clothes. Derek braces himself.

 

“What the fuck do you mean we’re lost?” Allison’s shriek is doubly loud due to the transmitter in his ear, but there was no way to get around that.

 

“I mean that I don’t know where we are, _baby_. Women, can you believe ‘em?” There’s some chortling from out front, sounding like some mobsters have gone outside.

 

“ _Women?_ Who else are you seeing? You fucking pig!” Skin hits skin, gravel crunches, and footsteps pound towards the commotion.

 

“Ally-oxen-free, there’s no one else! I promise!”

 

Stiles drops through the skylight at the mention of the code word, landing in a roll before bounding to his feet. Derek rolls his eyes but follows, landing lightly on the balls of his feet. Stiles was already grabbing packages of cocaine and stuffing them into the pockets of his pants. Derek raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“How is that even fitting?” Derek asked while grabbing packages and putting them into the bag he had brought along. Stiles wiggles his fingers at Derek.

 

“Magic.” Rolling his eyes, Derek gets back gathering up the cocaine. The entire warehouse was full of Alpha Pack related stuff, but only a small section is dedicated to drugs. Okay, maybe not small. There is at least fifty kilos here.

 

“Mayday, mayday, Alpha. You guys need to get out of there.” Stiles and Derek look at each other, eyes wide, as the screech of metal signals the front door opening again. Stiles looks around and snaps his fingers. The coke disappears and Derek’s bag feels a lot heavier. Stiles stumbles a few steps, face now pale.

 

“What did you do?” Derek growls quietly as he grabs Stiles’ arm and yanks him towards the window at the back of the warehouse. It’s a struggle to sneak through the warehouse with a bag full of cocaine and a faint man and not get caught, but Derek manages.

 

“Used too much magic without enough prep.” Stiles sounds out of breath, but he still has enough energy to wiggle his eyebrows at Derek at the innuendo. 

 

“Goddamn it, Stiles,” Derek manages to mutter under his breath. “Come on, we need to move.”

 

“You’re face needs to move. And I’m not Stiles. I’m the Hulk,” Stiles breathes. Derek scoffs.

 

When they get to the window, it’s a lot higher than Derek had expected. It’s at least twelve feet up. Angry shouts cry from the front of the warehouse, and Derek knows that they need to leave before those thugs find them. Derek shoves the bag around Stiles before hoisting him up and pushing him out. Derek hears a thud but no approaching footsteps, so he counts that as a win. He throws himself at the window. Even with the werewolf advantage, Derek barely gets his hands on the windowsill causing a loud thud. There’s an abrupt stop in the angry yells only to be replaced with heavy pounds of footfall. Derek pulls himself onto the windowsill just as they round the corner.

 

“What the fuck do you think your doing?” Someone yells from behind Derek. Someone shoots a gun, the bullet ricochets off the metal wall of the warehouse right near Derek’s right ear. A collective groan sounds from the transmitter that sits there. Quickly, Derek tucks and rolls out the window, stumbling when he lands on his feet. Stiles is waiting for him there. He’s regaining color so he doesn’t look like a grim reaper under his mask, but he still looks shaky.

 

“Why didn’t you leave? Do you have a death wish?” Derek furiously whispers as he grabs Stiles’ arm and yanks him into a gradual jog.

 

“You might have needed me!” Stiles pants.

 

“What would’ve you done? Fallen on them?” For some reason, Stiles manages to bring the worst out in Derek. Stiles picks and pulls at Derek’s nerves, and he pushes all of his buttons.

 

“We’re coming to pick you up.” Scott cuts right across Stiles and Derek’s conversation. “Meet us at the corner of Howell Avenue and Fieldstone Drive.”

 

The rest of the way was spent in a silence only cut by Stiles’ ragged breathing.

 

oXo

 

“Where are we going to hide all of this?” Stiles tosses the bag of coke on the dining room table and starts emptying his bottomless pockets. Scott shrugs as Allison brushes past everyone to start taking off all of her hidden weapons.

 

“You guys didn’t think about where all this was going?” Derek sent them a disbelieving look as he peeled off his mask. It stayed in place well enough, but after a while, it made Derek feel claustrophobic.

 

“Wasn’t exactly high on the priority list, dude,” Stiles tosses back at him as he peels off his mask too.

 

“I guess we could just keep it here?” Scott suggests, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. Stiles flails.

 

“You realize this is the sheriff’s house, right? As in the place where the sheriff lives. The sheriff being my dad,” Stiles yelps.

 

“You are running a secret vigilante group out of the sheriff’s house,” Danny points out as he starts setting up his laptop to run recon on the Alpha’s communications.

 

“Dude! Whose side are you on?” Danny shrugs at him. Stiles huffs and stalks off to the kitchen to muttering something about food and how ungrateful people are. Scott shrugs at Derek before following Stiles out.

 

Silence falls over Danny and Derek. He’s never been good at conversation, not even before, so Derek just takes a seat and let’s the tapping of Danny’s keys wash over him.

 

“Hmm. It seems like even the Argents have been pulled into what happened today. Gerard just sent a really nasty email to Deucalion denying involvement.” Danny points to something on his laptop even though Derek can’t see. Derek turns rigid.

 

“Do you have connections into all of the mobs’ communications?” His voice sounds stilted, even to him.

 

“Yeah,” Danny drags out the word. “Why?”

 

“How far do the records go back?” Derek asks avoiding Danny’s question.

 

“Well, I could probably go back pretty far, but I’d obviously hit a wall once I go back so far that the technology wasn’t there to house anything for me to find.” Danny’s eyebrow is raised, and all of his attention is now pointed at Derek.

 

“Could you do me a favor?” As much as Derek hates to put his trust in a guy he barely knows, Derek knows that Danny’s probably his best shot at finding who killed his family.

 

“Depends,” Danny replies reasonably.

 

“Would it be possible for you to sift through the Argents communications from three to six months ago and see if you can find anything suspicious?” Danny sputters at him.

 

“Three to six _months_? Do you know how many electronic communications happen in a _day_ let alone in a month?” Derek grinds his teeth.

 

“Yes. If you don’t want to do it, then just say no.” Danny waves a hand at Derek.

 

“I’ll do it. I’ll even keep it on the down low because it sounds like you don’t want the others to know. Just understand, I can destroy you. I can destroy you without being anywhere even close to you.” Danny isn’t inherently threatening, but the determined glimmer in his eyes shows that he’s serious. Derek nods.

 

“Understood.”  


“Also, you owe me a favor. To be redeemed at a later date.” Derek rolls his eyes but nods.

 

oXo

 

“What are we doing exactly?” Stiles sighs from where he’s bent over. Derek’s been following him around for the past fifteen minutes, watching Stiles periodically pull things from his pockets, bend over, whisper a few foreign words, straighten up, and continue on. No one’s explained anything to him. They just shoved him out the door as soon as he showed up and told him to stick with Stiles.

  
“Do you know what that is?” Stiles asks, pointing the house in the distance that they’ve been creating a semi-circle around.

 

“A house,” Derek deadpans. Stiles breathes hard through his nose before stalking off to what Derek presumes is the next spot for… Whatever.

 

“Do you know whose house it is?” Stiles pulls more jars from his pockets, sprinkling different materials into an empty jar, mixing it, and then sprinkling that onto the ground. He uses his finger to draw a symbol in the mixture and places one of the empty jars over the symbol.

 

Derek sniffs the air. All he smells is ozone. He chalks it up to whatever Stiles is doing until Derek realizes that he can’t smell anything _but_ ozone. He can’t smell the citrus/vanilla he’s come to associate with Stiles at all. He can barely smell his own scent from the trail they’ve been making.

 

“The Druids?” Stiles looks up at Derek, a mocking smile playing across his face and eyebrows wriggling.

 

“Bingo, buddy.” Stiles continues on the circular trajectory. Derek trails behind him, making sure to not mess up the magic that Stiles weaves.

 

“That still doesn’t explain what we’re doing here.” Stiles turns to face Derek, annoyance gracing his features.

 

“That house is holding some serious blood runes that the Alphas are interested in for some reason.” That triggers something in Derek’s memory. The realization must’ve crossed his face. “Bingo, buddy,” Stiles repeats. “First time, we met. Excuse me while I swoon. Anyway, I’m here because I’m going to try and leach the magic from the runes to render them, and therefore the Druids deal with the Alphas, useless. You’re here to make sure I don’t die.” Stiles turns from Derek once more and continues to do his magical thing, Derek in tow.

 

When they complete the circle, Stiles turns to Derek once more. His mouth is set in a firm line.

 

“Okay, I need to do my thing. This is very, _very_ complicated. Do not interrupt me. I don’t care what happens, just don’t interrupt me.” Not giving Derek a chance to respond, Stiles about-faces and plops down on the ground, sitting cross-legged.

 

Derek scoffs at Stiles back, and he hears the other man take a deep, clearing breath. After a few more clearing breaths, Stiles begins to chant in a guttural foreign language. It starts softly, a gradual crescendo that rises until Stiles chants at a volume just a tad over a normal speaking voice. The circle of jars hovers a few feet off the ground. Derek feels a ripple and a tightening grip of the circle. The scent of Stiles’ own brand of magic strengthens, the ozone now heavily laced with citrus and vanilla. The jars glow. At first, it’s so subtle that Derek thought he was imagining it, but then they grow brighter, and deep green glow originating from each of the jars. There’s a pulse, and then red light funnels from the house in the center of the circle. It pulls and flows, pushes and resists, but ultimately, the red flows into the green and neutralizes.

 

Derek watches from his position, and he can feel his jaw drop. It’s truly a sight to behold, and in the midst of this beautiful chaos is Stiles. The irony isn’t lost on Derek.

 

Stronger trickling’s of sticky ozone cling to Derek’s lungs. Tearing his gaze from Stiles, Derek turns and sees four people standing next to the circle. The woman in the front reaches to grab one of the jars from the air. Derek reaches down and grabs a rock from the ground and whips it at the group. It stops a few inches from the woman, but it stops her; their gazes lock. As if in slow motion, Derek watches her raise her arm in his direction, and he feels like he’s been sucker punched in the gut. His feet leave the ground, and there’s a pain in his back as he comes to a sudden stop. Shaking his head to clear his vision, Derek launches himself between Stiles and the Druids.

 

“This is no place for a wolf,” the woman who threw him scolds. “We have dealings with your kind. Let us take the boy and be on your way.” Derek lets his eyes bleed red but doesn’t move from where he’s crouched at Stiles’ back. The woman sighs dramatically. “We warned you.”

 

Derek can take hits. That’s not the problem. The problem is absorbing as many hits as possible so the Druids can’t reach Stiles, who is still sitting and chanting. The red light seems to be slowing down, so Derek hopes that that means Stiles is almost done.

 

Derek dives punches, ducks magic, bobs from one Druid to another, but ultimately fights his way back to Stiles’ back and tries to hold them off. Derek takes a knife to the chest when Stiles’ chanting stops.

 

“Derek!” Stiles voice is in his ear, but it sounds as though he’s going through a tunnel. He distantly feels himself hitting the ground. The world dulls, the browns and greens fading together like a bad abstract painting. Then it’s dark. He doesn’t remember closing his eyes, but he’s so tired.

 

“Derek!” There’s that noise again. It’s faint. Derek wants to roll over, go back to sleep. “Derek, wake up!” Someone’s grabbing the front of his shirt, shaking it and him along with it. Where he’s lying is rough. Where is he? He’s obviously not in his bed. And how did he get here? He remembers going out with Stiles to take care of the Druids. “God, don’t kill me.” The Druids… Pain blooms in his cheek for an instant and then it’s gone. The Druids in the woods with Stiles. “Come on, Derek. Come on!” Derek was protecting Stiles when the Druids showed up.

 

Derek’s eyes fly open, and he grabs at the sudden motion in front of his face. Taking a good look at it, it’s Stiles’ fist. Stiles has a hand under Derek’s shoulder, and he’s looking from his fist to Derek’s face. Stiles lets out a breath and relaxes into Derek’s touch for a moment, head dipping to rest where Derek’s hand is still grabbing Stiles’ before helping Derek sit up. Derek’s still dizzy, but it’s fading fast.

 

The Druids litter the ground. All are passed out with varying states of exterior wounds. All the leaves, twigs, and rocks on the ground are strewn in an outward position like a strong wind knocked all of them back and away. Derek tosses a curious look towards Stiles. A light flush dusts over Stiles’ face and the coy scent of embarrassment swirls in the air as he shrugs.

 

“My magic kinda just exploded. I don’t know. Let’s go.” Stiles heads off into the woods before Derek grabs his arm and aims him in the right direction.

 

oXo

 

Derek knows he’s in trouble the moment he begins to get bored at the loft he’s been hiding out in. The loft has been abandoned for some time if the smell had anything to say about it. Derek had to scare a few homeless people out of it.

 

The loft is open with exposed support beams, which makes it easier for Derek to work out when his nightmares won’t let him sleep. The main attraction, however, is the view. There is a giant window that takes up on full wall, and Derek can see most of the town from it. When he first found the place, Derek was surprised the window wasn’t broken years ago. He’s grateful, nonetheless.

 

As Derek lies on his back, panting from a rigorous work out, he can’t help but think how fucked he is. He’s bored. _Bored_ of all things. He doesn’t hear the racket of Stiles trying to get Scott to do something stupid. He can hear the quiet breathing of Allison as she watches the steady hand of Lydia tinkering with something new. Danny’s not clacking on his laptop. No one’s there to talk to Derek, to run down a plan, to try and joke with him. Stiles isn’t there to rile him up, to pull Derek’s snark from him.

 

Derek sits up and reaches for his super suit.

 

oXo

 

It was a stupid idea. Derek knows it was a stupid idea. The feeling of ribs and skin knitting back together is never pleasant, it’s super itchy, but it was worth it. Mostly.

 

Derek wrangles his cell phone out of one of his many side pockets one handed and winces when he feels his left shoulder pop back into place.

 

“Yellow.”  


“Danny, hey. It’s Derek.” Derek winces at his lack of social finesse.

 

“And so it is. What’s up?”

 

“You know that favor I asked you for last week? I can narrow it down a bit for you. Look for anything in regards to Kate Argent.” Vomit creeps up his throat at the mention of her name, and goose bumps crawl up his arms and down his legs. He never thought he’d have to deal with her again outside of his old memories. There’s a moment of silence on the phone.

 

“How did you find this out, Derek?” Danny asks cautiously.

 

_Bones cracked under determined hands. Derek had found a couple of Argent’s men, Derek counted four, hanging out in front of a bar that launders money for the mob heckling women as they walk by._

_“Aye, baby. That dress sure does look nice, but it’d look better on the floor, if you know what I mean!” The man had hip thrust a couple times with a crude look on his face, and the other men laughed along with him. The women huddled closer and walk faster; however, one of the women broke off from the group and came closer to the men. The one who shouted smirks as the woman approached. Quickly, she brought her hand up, a small vial in hand, and something sprayed out of it causing the man to howl in agony as she runs back to her friends: pepper spray._

_“Fucking crazy bitches, man,” one of the guys spat, and he started like he was going to go after the group. Derek stepped in. Grabbing the man by his throat, Derek held him in his crushing grip._

_“I hear you know a lot about crazy bitches,” Derek growled. Internally, he shook his head at how cheesy that sounded, but he kept his grip firm._

_“The fuck, man?” The guy who got pepper sprayed was rubbing his eyes and trying to squint at Derek._

_“What do you know of a woman who broke protocol eight years ago?” The man in his hand gasped out a laugh._

_“Protocol? We’re in a mob. There is no protocol.” The man choked for breath._

_“So burning an entire family alive by their own hand isn’t against the rules.” Derek stated, glaring at the man._

_“What do you want to know?” An older voice danced across the air from the back of the group. The man looked old by mob standards, probably late thirties. Gray was just starting to tangle in his hair around the temples. Derek rolled his eyes. His intent was very clear._

_“Who. Was it.”_

_“Yes, who could it be, indeed. Someone who broke, as you call it, protocol, and yet have no repercussions carried out. A person who could seduce their way into any and all situations. Who, indeed.” The voice mocked as it spoke._

_A chill overwhelmed Derek. The feel of calloused hands and smooth legs, the smell of flowers and sweat, the sound of throaty laughs and breathy moans pulled their way from the recesses of his mind and came to the forefront once more._

_Derek’s hands must’ve gone lax at the realization because a punch to cheek by the man he had by the throat brought him back to the present. The other men flooded towards Derek, some with pipes they found in the alley, others with brass knuckles from their pockets._

_Derek lashed out. Bones cracked under determined hands._

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek growls. “Can you do it or not?”

 

“No, no, I can do it, but—”

 

“—Thanks,” Derek interrupts before hanging up the phone. He collapses onto his bed, just a mattress in the middle of the loft, and closes his eyes. He won’t sleep for a long time tonight, he knows that, but at least this way he can focus on healing as fast as possible.

 

oXo

 

“Why do we always get stuck with the bitch work?” Stiles grumbles as he lugs an unconscious man into the back of a powder blue jeep.

 

“Because you suck at acting, Stilinski,” Lydia replies primly in their ears. Stiles pulls a face at Derek, and Derek smirks at him.

 

“Approaching the target now.” Derek glances to the bar across the street from the alley Stiles and him are waiting in. The Mexican mobster groans from the jeep. Stiles slams an elbow into the side of the guys head before slamming the trunk door.

 

“So, the Wolf is gonna get in, try to sell them the drugs we stole from them, and once we get the deal recorded, we can all go in and nab them, right?” Stiles bounces on his toes next to Derek. Derek rolls his eyes and bumps Stiles with his elbow. He stumbles a couple steps and glares at Derek.

 

“Yes, Stiles, that’s what we planned.” Stiles nudges Derek with his elbow. Derek huffs a laugh and turns his attention to what’s going on inside the bar.

 

“Aye.” Scott’s doing an absolutely horrific version of the stereotypical mob voice. “I thought you were only bringing a couple guys. My lady gets scared around so many big guys, ya know? Don’t ya, toots.” Stiles slaps a hand across his face, and Derek snorts a laugh. Stiles’ eyes are wide from beneath his mask. The scent of citrus grows stronger. Scott’s fake voice pings in his ear again. Derek rolls his eyes.

 

“Did he watch _The Godfather_ on repeat last night? Where did he get his lines from?” Derek chuckles. Stiles snorts into his hand.

 

“It kinda sounds like he’s going half _Godfather_ , half the Joker from _Batman_.” A laugh startles out of Derek. It’s an honest to God belly laugh, loud and unburdened. It makes Derek feel guilty yet giddy. He can’t remember the last time he laughed like that, and it feels great.

 

When he settles down, Derek realizes that Stiles is staring at him, wide, bright eyes, mouth agape. Derek fights the heat that threatens to creep over his cheeks and reaches over to ruffle Stiles’ hair. Stiles breaks from his stupor, flails, and knocks Derek’s hands out of the air. After he fixes his hair, Stiles tosses Derek a hesitant smile. It’s soft. It’s not the face breakingly wide smile Stiles normally pastes on. It’s not the smile that accompanies a too big laugh. Not the smile that Derek comes to expect out of this loud, loud man. After a moment of his own hesitation, Derek gives Stiles his own smile, just as small, just as soft.

  
“Cut the chatter, guys.” Danny’s voice breaks the moment, and Derek drags his eyes back to the bar where Scott’s somehow managed to sell the drugs back to the Alphas.  

 

That night, the sheriff’s department gets fifteen new residents for their cells.

 

oXo

 

“So, explain something to me, son.” Derek winces at the obvious disapproval radiating from the sheriff. He’s leaning on the dining room table across from where Derek is sitting. From behind him, there are matching stares ranging from disapproval (Scott), annoyance (Lydia and Allison), understanding (Danny), and rage (Stiles). “Why was there a lone figure matching your description and outfit seen beating up four of the Argent’s men?” Derek sighs, weary. He never asked for this.

 

“Because I beat up four of the Argent’s men.” Stiles scoffs from behind the sheriff.

 

“I don’t think that’s the why he wanted, numb nuts.” Derek glares at Stiles violently.

 

“No shit, jackass,” Derek spits back viciously. Stiles closes the gap between the two, and Derek rises so Stiles won’t loom over him.

 

“Then answer the question, dick bag.” Stiles heartbeat is deafening, jack rabbiting in the man’s chest, shouting things louder than Stiles’ voice ever could.

 

“Ever think I don’t want to?”

 

“Oh, no, that never crossed my fucking mind. I’m oh so fucking sorry.” Stiles sneers at him, and the normal citrusy fresh scent that tangles with ozone that Derek has become used to now takes on an acrid tinge. “Would it kill you to trust me—us?” Stiles turns beet-red at the slip of ‘me,’ but he pushes through, expression still vivid, violent, underlain with a hint of wild desperation in his eyes.

 

“You don’t trust me. I don’t trust you,” Derek claims shortly. It sounds more like a conditional than Derek is comfortable with, so he stands to leave before anyone can say anything else. Before leaving the dining room, the team, Derek leans down to the sheriff’s ear and whispers, “I thought you’d understand.” He receives a stricken look, but Derek walks out of the household, never hesitating. Not at the gentle hands of Scott reaching out, not at Allison’s cool look of disinterest that somehow also screams victory, not the quiet, “Derek,” that Danny whispers sounding a lot like a ‘please,’ not at the calculating look Lydia tosses him which cries retaliation, and especially not at the pained expression that adorns Stiles’ face.

 

Once Derek is safe a couple streets away, he turns and punches the closes wall. Brick crumbles but gives little. Derek tries to tell himself that it’s his hand that hurts.

 

oXo

 

The next few days Derek spends working out until the point of exhaustion so he can sleep, but after a while, the motions become so repetitive that Derek’s mind can wander. It’s a dangerous thing.

 

He tries to plan, tries to figure out a way to get to Kate, tries to figure out something fitting enough to take from her to be comparable to what she took from him, but every time he starts his mind loops its way back to disappointing looks, angry words, pained stares.

 

Derek makes his way to the roof. A balcony is attached off to the side of the loft, but the roof has a better view. It takes less than ten minutes before a rustling settles next to him.

 

“How’d you find me?” Derek’s voice is rough from disuse.

 

“Lydia put a tracker in your super suit. She wants that back, by the way, if you don’t…” Stiles trails off. Silence blooms between them. Stiles fidgets, and Derek notices that he’s not wearing his super suit or his mask. He’s donned jeans and a graphic tee with a comically large flannel over it.

 

“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek is tired, so tired. He hasn’t felt a sense of relaxation since Laura, or if he was being honest with himself, since his family. There are a few beats of silence, so long that Derek doesn’t think Stiles will answer.

 

“Why?” He sounds so painfully young, more like a child than a man in this moment. Derek lets his head fall to his chest. In that moment, Derek feels like the weight of the world is crushing him, like there’s no escape from this secret, this guilt, no escape from his life.

 

“When I was sixteen, I met this woman. She was so sensual, funny, interesting, and she was interested in me. I was a stupid sixteen year old, and here was a mature and amazing woman who wanted _me_.” Derek lets out a laugh and tries to ignore how it sounds more like sob. He’s never told anyone this, not even Laura, and along comes this stupid kid who somehow managed to worm his way through Derek’s cracks and filled him up with jokes and energy and just his presence. It makes Derek’s head spin, but he soldiers on.

 

“I knew my parents wouldn’t approve. She was six years older than me, and the mob was her family business. She said she hated it, wanted to get out, but until then she asked me to keep our relationship a secret from my parents. I loved her. I did as she asked.

 

“A couple days a week, we would meet. She’d pick me up, we’d meet a couple towns over, we’d go into the woods, it didn’t matter. As long as I was with her, everything was good. I loved her, and I thought she loved me. She’d ask me about my family. I thought she was worried they wouldn’t like her when they finally met, so I told her about everyone.

 

“I told her about how my parents loved each other and the town so much. I told her about how they’d be out all day making plans for the town, but how they made sure to be home for dinner.

 

“I told her about my uncle Peter and my aunt Wendy just had a baby, how tiny she was, how much she cried, how we thought she’d be a were’.

 

“I told her about Laura and Cora and how they constantly teased me. Laura would hold the fact that she’d be alpha one day over my head. Cora would tickle me and called me a nerd all the time.

 

“I told her about Luke. I told her about how he was the one I went to the first time I popped a boner, and I freaked out. He was the one I went to when things were rough at school. He was the one I told that I thought life would be easier as a wolf.

 

“I told her about James, little baby James. He was only four and human. I told her about the first time I fully shifted in front of him, and how _thrilled_ he was. It took us ages to stop calling me puppy.” Derek felt a tear crawl its way down his face. A warm hand grasps his shoulder, and Derek collapses more into himself.

 

“I told her that no matter what, we always had family dinner at six o’clock sharp. It was family time, and everyone always made an effort to be there.” Stiles grips Derek’s shoulder tighter.

 

“I told Kate I couldn’t hang out one day, I had a bunch of homework to make up from sneaking off to see her. The next thing I know, it feels like every string that was holding me up was being shredded before being sliced. I was able to feel my pack being torn from me, and I hear Laura howling on the other side of the library. It was just after six, and my family burnt alive.

 

“We didn’t know who it was. Laura immediately packed us up and moved us across the country. I mourned the loss of Kate as well as the loss of my family. Can you believe that?” Derek laughs again, and again it comes out as a sob. “Then a few months ago, Laura tells me that she needs to come back here. I asked her why; I asked if I could come with her. We still didn’t know who killed the rest of our family. It could be dangerous. She shrugged me off; she said it was just an insurance thing that she had to figure out. She’d be back in a couple days.

 

“A day later, I felt the last of my pack ripped from me. I felt emptiness and a rush of power. I was the alpha, an alpha without a pack, without a family.”

 

“That’s why you came back,” Stiles says quietly. His hand is a steady weight on his shoulder, an anchor to grab onto. Derek nods.

 

“I had to know who did it. One of the Alpha’s guys told me that there was a rumor that a lady from the Argents that went crazy around the same time. I got some information when I went out that one night, and all the pieces came together.”

 

Silence falls over the duo once more, but Stiles’ hand is still a burst of warmth on Derek’s otherwise cold body.

 

“When I was eight.” Stiles clears his throat. “When I was eight, my mom was kidnapped. There was an up and coming mob that wanted to make a name for themselves in a big way. They wanted a plant in the sheriff’s department. For some reason they picked my dad. Maybe because he was super straight laced, maybe he seemed weak. Who knows? But I guess my mom and dad talked about this possibility before because my dad was firm in his choice to not give in to their demands. Some kids found her body in the reserve a couple days later.”

 

Derek looks at this kid, this kid that’s just as broken as he is, who hides behind sarcasm and superhero jokes. Derek grips Stiles by the back of his neck, and Stiles tenses, but Derek just pulls him to his chest and wraps his arms around Stiles. Stiles arms work their way around Derek’s waist, and he grips just as tight.

 

“I’m still mad at you,” Stiles whispers softly, arms tightening around Derek’s waist. Derek snorts and buried his nose in the space just behind Stiles’ ear. Derek feels the last remaining tension leach out of his shoulders. The tantalizing swirl of vanilla, citrus, and ozone has become as relaxing as a hot shower after a long day. Derek kisses Stiles, right there behind his ear, where his scent is so concentrated, before his mind catches up. Stiles freezes in his arms. Derek freezes too until Stiles sits up and, keeping one arm around Derek’s waist, reaches up and lightly traces from the tip of Derek’s forehead, down and across his eyebrow, and around the outside edge of his face until Stiles is cupping Derek’s jaw in his hand. Stiles’ eyes are wide, looking into Derek’s eyes, which are probably just as wide. Derek looks at the man in front of him, looking at the openness and soft vibrancy. Stiles must have found what he was looking for because he’s leaning in, slowly, too slow. Derek closes the gap.

 

Derek thinks it should be weirder. He feels like kissing Stiles should freak him out, but Derek can’t bring himself to do that.

 

Kissing Stiles feels like coming home. His lips are as soft and full as they look. He tastes like coffee and anxiety. And as Derek bites into Stiles’ bottom lip gently, Derek realizes that Stiles makes the most amazing noises: a mix between a whimper and a groan. Derek drags Stiles into his lap and cradles the back of Stiles’ neck, trying to pull him even closer. The feeling is heady, having this brilliant man in his lap, responsive and wanting.

 

Stiles gets his knees underneath him and straddles Derek’s lap. Now that Stiles is above Derek, his arms travel to Derek’s hair and tug his hair lightly, changing the angle of the kiss. The first shy kiss changes with that angle, changing to something intimate. It’s deep and close. Derek loses himself in the wet slide of their mouths.

 

When Stiles yanks himself from the kiss, he stays close, leaning his forehead to Derek’s. Their breath comes hard and fast, and they’re all up in each other’s faces, but Derek doesn’t care.

 

“Okay?” Stiles questions. He runs a gentle hand down Derek’s face, thumb catching on his bottom lip. Derek gives it a small kiss. Derek knows he should be freaking out.

 

“Okay,” he replies as he grabs the back of Stiles’ thighs and stands up. Stiles squawks and clings to Derek’s neck. Derek chuckles as he walks, and Stiles hits his shoulder with the back of his hand.

 

“A little warning next time, yeah?” Stiles buries his face into the crook of Derek’s neck, pressing a smattering of kisses to the area he can reach.

 

“Next time?” Derek murmurs questioningly. He feels Stiles freeze in his motion, his entire body tensing. “I like the sound of that.” And just like that, Stiles melts back into Derek’s hold. He manages to get back down to the loft and places Stiles on the mattress.

 

Derek looks at the man beneath him. Pale skin flushed red, full lips bitten and bruised, his pupils blown so wide that the normal whiskey color is nothing but a thin rim. Derek covers Stiles’ body with his own, pressing small, sucking kisses into his neck. Stiles whimpers and grabs Derek’s face, forcibly dragging Derek back up and attacking his lips.

 

Their kisses are desperate now, biting, crushing, warm and slick. Derek licks into Stiles’ mouth with fervor, wanting to taste him, wanting to feel him. While Derek’s hands remain near Stiles’ head as to not crush him, Stiles’ hands roam. Derek feels the drag of them down his chest, over the small of his back, nails biting into his shoulders, lengthy fingers twisting and pulling in his hair.

 

Derek wrenches his mouth away from Stiles’ and makes his way down his neck. There are faint marks from before, and Derek smirks before nipping at Stiles’ neck. Stiles yelps, and Derek runs his tongue along the sensitive spot, a bruise forming right in front of his eyes. A jolt rushes through Derek at the sight, and Derek’s frenzied hands start pulling at Stiles’ ridiculous t-shirt getting it twisted up in the flannel.

 

“Off, off, off,” Stiles mutters, half-heartedly pushing at his own clothing while also trying to pull off Derek’s shirt. The sound of clothing stretch creaks through the loft, which is quickly followed by a loud rip. Stiles gapes a Derek, mouth opening and closing wordlessly. Just before Stiles goes to say something, Derek leans down and lightly bites Stiles’ right nipple. Stiles gasps and arches into Derek’s mouth, hand coming up to cup the back of Derek’s head and hold him in place.

 

Derek moseys around Stiles’ chest for a bit, rotating between sucking kisses, quick bites, and soothing laves of his tongue. Stiles’ hands are clenched in the sheets, and the noises he’s making are turning Derek on more than he cares to admit. Stiles has always been loud, and Derek isn’t disappointed to find out he’s just as loud in bed.

 

Pretty soon, Stiles’ hands have made their way to Derek’s back, and he’s clawing at Derek’s shirt, dragging it up until it’s just over Derek’s head and the collar is caught around his chin, choking him slightly. Derek pulls back with a growl and rips it off over his head. Before Derek can go back to the treatment he was giving Stiles, Stiles has his hands on Derek’s newly bare chest, fingers tracing the cut muscles of his pecs, lats, and abs. Derek shivers under Stiles’ fingers, closes his eyes at the sensation, and the next thing he knows, he’s on his back and Stiles’ playful face is looming over him, smiling wide at him before dropping to Derek’s neck.

 

Stiles uses more teeth on Derek than he expected, but he nevertheless enjoys it. Stiles makes his way down Derek’s neck and onto his chest, and Derek’s hands can’t keep still. He’s trying to touch Stiles anywhere, everywhere, trying to savor the moment while not getting locked in his own head, he wants and wants and wants.

 

Sneaky, spindly hands grab the top of Derek’s pants, and Stiles’ face appears in Derek’s line of vision once more. His pupils are still blown wide, but Stiles has a hesitant look on his face, biting his lip.

 

“Okay?” Stiles asks again. Derek leans up and kisses him, wet, dirty, thoroughly, and when he pulls back, Stiles’ eyes are still closed.

 

“If you even think about stopping now, I will kill you,” Derek murmurs in Stiles’ ear. A shocked laugh chokes out of Stiles’ mouth.

 

“Only you could make a death threat sound like the dirtiest thing ever.” The hands on his pants, now confident and firm, make quick work of the button, and deft fingers lightly trace Derek’s cock outside his boxer briefs. Derek breathes in sharply.

 

“Don’t be a fucking tease,” Derek grounds out, flipping them. Stiles squawks a bit at the sudden movement, but quickly falls quiet when Derek pins both of Stiles’ hands above his head and pops the button on Stiles’ pants with one hand.

 

“ _Fuck_ , that’s hot,” Stiles moans, struggling lightly against Derek’s grip. Derek grinds his hips down, and they both groan at the friction. Derek releases Stiles so he can take off Stiles’ pants. Pulling them down slowly, like he’s opening a present, Derek removes Stiles’ pants, boxers, socks, and shoes before quickly shucking the remainder of his own clothing.

 

Derek covers Stiles’ body with his own once more, and both moan at the return of the friction, just this side on the pain/pleasure line with nothing but precum.

 

“D’you, d’you have anything?” Stiles gasps out, hips jerking up causing Derek to groan at the motion. Derek continues to rut against Stiles’ body for a moment until Stiles smacks the back of his head lightly, more of a caress than a hit. “Lube would be, ah, very appreciated.” Derek scrapes his teeth down Stiles’ neck before rolling off of him. Stiles whimpers at the loss, and Derek tosses him an unimpressed look. Derek goes to his bathroom. He has the bare minimums of everything, and his bathroom is no different. He grabs the small bottle that’s hidden behind his body wash and heads back to the main room.

 

Stiles has an arm underneath his head and is leisurely jacking off. Derek’s cock twitches at the sight.

 

“Get over here and open me up.” Stiles has a dopey smile on his face as Derek walks over. Derek pauses when he gets to the bed and fiddles with the lube.

 

“Maybe next time,” Derek says, while coating his fingers before kneeling on the bed and reaching around to his own hole. Stiles’ eyes shoot open wide, and Derek hesitates. Stiles dives for the lube and quickly slicks up his own fingers before nudging Derek onto his back. Derek goes willingly, his own eyes wide. The fingers, those _fucking_ fingers, that Derek had been imagining are slicked up with lube and ready to go.

 

“Ready?” Stiles’ finger brushes over Derek’s hole. He flinches lightly at the cold of the lube.

 

“What did I tell you about teasing, Stiles,” Derek groans, trying to shove his way onto Stiles’ finger.

  
“You would be a power bottom,” Stiles breathes, eyes locked on where his hand is. Derek feels the hesitant touch of the tip of Stiles finger before it’s more firmly pressed against him, spreading lube around the area. Derek’s ass clenches, waiting. Stiles’ finger presses more insistently at Derek’s rim before breaching slowly, oh so slowly.

 

Derek’s breath punches out of him. Goddamn, Derek knows that Stiles’ fingers look like what dreams are made of, but they feel even better than they look if that’s at all possible.

 

“You good?” Stiles sounds subdued, but his eyes are still locked at where his finger is disappearing into Derek as if hypnotized by the sight. All Derek can manage is a strangled moan and a jerk of his hips. It’s been a while since Derek was able to have a good session with himself, but Stiles’ finger feels great, long and lean but big enough to still give the stretch Derek yearned for.

 

“Another,” Derek grounds out. Stiles pulls his finger out, at which Derek grunts unhappily, just for it to be replaced with the slow push of two fingers. A moan drags itself from Derek’s throat. Stiles scissors his fingers a bit, opening Derek up wider, before crooking them. A brush of his fingers sends jolts up Derek’s spine and causes his cock to jump.

 

“Gotcha,” Stiles whispers, smiling smugly. Derek nudges at Stiles’ knee with his heel. Stiles massages Derek’s prostate in retaliation causing Derek to moan louder and hump the air looking for friction. Derek groans Stiles’ name before asking for another finger, which Stiles gives readily. The stretch feels amazing, Stiles fingers being long enough to make him feel really full, and Stiles makes sure to knock against his prostate every once in a while. Derek squirms under the treatment, all the stimulation great, but there’s not enough friction to get him off.

 

“‘M ready. C’mon, Stiles.” Derek refuses to beg, no matter how much he wants to, but Stiles continues his administrations, slowly pumping his fingers in and out of Derek, mouth drifting closer to Derek’s cock so his breath ghosts over it. “Stiles,” Derek snaps. Stiles blinks up at him, all doe eyes and smug smiles.

 

“Yes, Der?” Sonuvabitch.

 

“C’mon, I’m ready.” Stiles’ fingers rub his prostate, and Derek’s back arches.

 

“What’s the magic word?” Stiles asks with a contemplative look. His eyebrow twitches, and a small smirk plays across his face at Derek’s struggle. Derek bites his lip and tries not to give in, but Stiles’ fingers have all but stopped. Simply there, but not doing anything. Derek tries to grind down on Stiles’ fingers, but Stiles compensates, leaving Derek unfulfilled. Derek growls under his breath.

 

“Please, Stiles,” he mutters, feeling a bit bashful. Stiles must pick up on that bashfulness because his smile widens wickedly. Derek feels a light flush brush over his cheeks.

 

“Please what, Derek?” Stiles’ fingers are moving slowly, more a twitch than anything, massaging Derek’s prostate, almost too light to get a reaction out of Derek, but enough for him to feel. Derek feels heat crawl up his chest and dance across his face. He groans, this time from annoyance.

 

“Please get in me. Now.” A peel of laughter rips from Stiles’ mouth, and Derek’s blush intensifies.

 

“Only you can make begging sound like a threat, Der.” With that, Stiles is removing his fingers, and Derek feels his hole clench at the loss. Stiles grabs the lube from where it lay in the sheets and drops a kiss on Derek’s chest, his throat, behind his ear, his cheek, and then, finally, his lips. Stiles kisses him slowly, thoroughly. He slips his tongue into Derek’s mouth, tracing Derek’s palette, tangling his tongue with Derek’s. When Stiles pulls away, it’s with a hiss.

 

“Fuck, that’s cold.” Derek snorts and watches as Stiles gingerly finishes slicking himself up.

 

“No shit, Sherlock. What did you expect without heating it up first?” Stiles sticks his tongue out at him, which is new for Derek. When Derek’s had sex before, it’s strictly been about getting off. It was all about two people coming together and just trying to reach their own end. He’s not used to laughter and banter and, to put it simply, _fun_ when having sex. It’s something he could get used to.

 

Derek’s train of thought gets derailed when a blunt pressure pushes against his hole, and he forces himself to relax. Stiles slowly pushes until the head of his cock breaches Derek’s rim, and he pauses before slowly thrusting in and out, getting a bit deeper with each thrust in, until he’s fully seated. Stiles stops and leans over Derek, bracketing Derek’s head between his elbows. They both pause and breathe in each other’s breath. Stiles looks into Derek’s eyes, flicking back and forth. It’s more intimate that Derek’s ever been with anyone. Derek breaks eye contact to kiss Stiles. It’s brief, chaste, almost a peck, but when Derek pulls back, Stiles begins to move.

 

Stiles starts off slow: lengthy, dragging strokes. Since he’s practically lying on top of Derek, with every stroke, Derek gets a delicious, sharp tug of friction between Stiles’ and his abs. Derek digs his heels into the meat of Stiles’ ass, silently begging him to go faster. Stiles must understand because soon enough, he’s shifting onto his hands and his hips pick up the pace. The angle changes just enough that Stiles grazes Derek’s prostate every so often, shooting sparks up Derek’s spine. He’s writhing underneath Stiles, embarrassing noises escaping his mouth, but Derek can’t bring himself to care. It’s too much, yet not enough. Then Stiles wraps one of his hands around Derek’s cock, thumb swirling around the head.

 

And it’s too much.

 

Derek comes like a rolling wave: his breath coming hard, feeling the start of his orgasm before white stripes painting his chest and Stiles’ hand, and Derek continues thrusting up into Stiles’ hand as he rides of the rest of his orgasm. Stiles whimpers at the sight, and Derek feels him pulse within him as Stiles comes with a loud groan. He collapses on top of Derek, face going directly into the crook of Derek’s neck.

 

“You topped, you clean up.” Derek’s breath is still coming hard, but Stiles is a comforting weight on top of him. Stiles wipes a hand over Derek’s face.

 

“In a minute.” He sounds fucked out and glorious.

 

“In a minute,” Derek repeats.

 

When they wake up in the morning sticky and itchy, Derek lightly cuffs Stiles on the back of the head as they make their way to the shower.

 

oXo

 

When Stiles and Derek enter Stiles’ home after their shower, Scott meets them at the door, his nose wrinkled in disgust.

 

“No, huh uh, absolutely not,” Scott says loudly while walking away from the duo. Derek sees a smirk slowly start over Stiles’ face, almost as if he knows he’s already won the fight.

 

“What?” Stiles asks innocently while slowly approaching Scott.

 

“You smell like… Remember that one time we went to that shady strip club? The one where you can literally hear the hookers being, you know, hookers? Like that! But more Derek.” Scott’s face crinkles. Stiles jumps on Scott, giving him a noogie and making sure to rub his face all in Scott’s hair. Scott groans playfully while taking Stiles’ weight easily, and he pushes Stiles to the ground with a roll of his eyes. “Just because you guys made up doesn’t mean that everything’s all good with everyone and everything else.”

 

“Aw, c’mon, Scotty. He promises he’ll be good.” Stiles pouts from where he sits on the ground. Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles and fights down the smile threatening to pull across the rest of his face. Derek’s eyes meet Scott’s, his face no longer joking, but pulled into a serious grimace.

 

“Dude, I’m not joking. That was a major breakage of trust. We gave you an opportunity to help us, to help the town, and you turned around and did fuck all with it. How are we supposed to react?” Scott wrinkles his nose again. “Well, all of us who aren’t Stiles. None of us want to bang you.”

 

“Speak for yourself!” Danny’s voice is muffled by a wall or too, but the sound of an elbow coming into contact with a stomach is clear as is Danny’s “ _oof_ ”. Derek snorts at their antics, but his entire demeanor changes when he catches Scott’s stern look.

 

“The main reason I came back was to find out what happened to my family. That hasn’t changed. That won’t change until I get what I’m looking for; however, I will help you if you help me. I know who did it, I just need to find her.” Scott meets Derek’s stare with a calculating gaze of his own. He tilts his head, and Stiles huffs an annoyed breath from the corner. Scott nods.

 

“We’ll help you find her if you help us. The Alpha’s contacted us—and by contacted I mean they left a member of their gang dead in the street with a note—requesting a meeting. We’re in a ‘all hands on deck’ situation right now.” Stiles’ playful demeanor immediately drops.

 

“What? When? Where? Who was it? Who found him?” Stiles is on his feet and making his way towards the Alpha board in the dining room. Scott shrugs.

 

“It was a low level guy, newly pulled in because of the recent ‘openings’ probably. He’s not in the system, but Danny found his Facebook. Matt Dahler. He was only eighteen.” Stiles lets out a low whistle, and Derek feels his stomach clench. “Danny looked into his electronic trail, and he seems to think that he was a double agent, reporting information to someone else. He had a bunch of texts to someone labeled ‘K’ that gave information about what was going on with the Alphas, what the wanted to do, acquisitions, that kind of thing. The Alphas were never smart with who they trusted with information.

 

“Anyway, the cops found him about an hour ago. They want a meeting tonight at the old mall. They requested that,” Scott pulls out a crumpled piece of paper that smells like unfamiliar ‘wolves and blood, “‘the BHH come to the mall on the edge of the city, food court on the first floor, alone, at eight o’clock sharp. We don’t like to be kept waiting.’”

 

“Well, that’s dramatic.” Stiles is still frowning. Scott shrugs helplessly.

 

“So, an ambush or a planned brawl?” Derek doesn’t understand what the Alpha’s have to gain from this unless their aim is to kill. They’re damned if they do, damned if they don’t.

Scott’s the one who replies.

 

“The only way to find out is to go.”

 

oXo

 

The abandoned mall on the west side of town is rugged, worn down, and in the dark, it looks a hell of a lot creepier. Windows are boarded up, inside and out. Dismantled mannequin parts lie about; hands missing arms, torso missing heads and legs, a leg propped against a door like a cane.

 

As the team infiltrates the mall, both Scott and Derek hearing the Alphas and their men are already there, they split up. Allison goes up to the second floor. It’s a more strategic placement for her to rain arrows down, if that needs to be the case, which, if Derek’s being honest, it’ll be the case. Scott approaches the food court straight on. He’s the one who spearheaded the assault on the Alphas, so he’s the one they want to talk to. With a brief look to Derek and a squeeze of his hand, Stiles takes the left side. He’s muttering spells as he walks, bringing his magic closer to the surface, which means he’ll hopefully be able to do more for longer. Derek watches him walk off until Stiles rounds the corner. Derek’s heart skips a beat before he turns around and veers to the right.

  
The plan was simple: do not engage unless necessary. The Alpha’s have been systematically worn down by the BHH; they don’t have a leg to stand on. Derek sticks in the shadow of a pillar where he has a good view. The food court is empty, completely gutted of tables, chairs, and garbage cans. Trash litters the floor, but it’s mainly newspapers and old food wrappers. The Alpha Pack stands in the middle of the room. Three of them. From what Derek remembers, there should be five alphas total, but it looks like the twins are missing. Scott steps into the food court, the echoes of his steps bouncing loudly in the hush of the abandoned building.

 

“Deucalion.” Scott sounds firm, voice unwavering. He looks impassible with his feet shoulder width apart, hands clenched in front of his body, mask secured and bold on his face.

 

“Wolf.” Deucalion sneers the word, disgusted. His eyes were hidden behind rose-colored shades, and he was holding a seeing cane. There were rumors about the head of the Alpha Pack being blind, but the stories also said that those who underestimated him were immediately righted of that wrong.

 

“What do you want?” Stiles snorts from across the court.

 

“What do you think, dumbass?” Deucalion turns to face Stiles with bared teeth, and Derek fights the urge to run to him, to place himself between Stiles and Deucalion. Stiles doesn’t react, looking at Deucalion with his condescending smile still in place. “We want you to leave. And never come back.” Kali snorts.

 

“And who are you supposed to be?”

 

“I am the Scarlet Witch.” Stiles moves into the stereotypical power stance of superheroes: legs shoulder width apart, body squatted closer to the ground, and hands outstretched with red lights emanating from his finger tips.

 

“You wish, little druid.”

 

“I may have magic, but I’m no druid. Bitch.” Ennis snarls at Stiles, but Kali holds him in place with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Why would we do that?” Deucalion asks, tapping his cane on the ground in between his feet. “As far as I’m aware, we’re completely fine here in Beacon Hills. It’s even starting to feel homey.” Deucalion gives an exaggerated shimmy of his shoulders and a condescending smile aimed towards Stiles. Sparks bounce between Stiles’ fingers from where they rest at his sides before he clenches his fists close.

 

“As far as I’m aware, that is complete bullshit,” Scott says, taking control of the situation with a stern look in Stiles’ direction. Stiles takes a deep breath before releasing his fists. Deucalion cocks an eyebrow.

 

“Is that right?” Scott nods.

 

“Well, let’s see. You don’t have any cocaine to pay for those blood runes you got from the Druids, of which, all are useless, so you don’t have product for those who have already bought off of you. Your entire gang has been sliced in half due to most of them being locked up, you killing them, or them leaving because—oh yeah—both Aiden and Ethan were stick of your bullshit and left. Sound about right to you?” Annoyance flashes over Deucalion’s face and both Ennis and Kali sink low and half shift so their claws are out and their eyes burn bright red. Growls rumble from the two.

 

“Don’t speak of what you don’t know.” The threat is clear in Deucalion’s voice. Derek raises an eyebrow.

 

“What do you—”

 

“We know _all_ about it, buddy.” Stiles’ smirk is back full force. “Wanna know how? It’s kinda a secret, but,” Stiles breaks into a stage whisper, “that was all us, friend.”  The following silence is deafening.

 

Ennis and Kali’s stances get less rigid, less confident. Eyes still glowing, Kali looks towards Deucalion with a questioning look.

 

“No, no. That’s not right.” Deucalion’s mouth curls into a growl. “Why would you take credit for her work?” Scott steps forward slightly, mouth downturned.

 

“Whose work?”

 

“Oh, sweetheart, you’re so oblivious. It’s adorable. Honestly.” The voice echoes through the food court. The raspy, feminine drawl sends shivers down Derek’s back.

 

“Kate,” he mutters to himself, looking around for her. Scott send him a questioning look before both of their heads snap slightly to the left of Deucalion and the other two alphas, who have dropped all pretenses of aggression towards Scott and Stiles. The clicking of heels draws Derek’s attention, and from the shadows of a run down toy store, she steps out.

 

Kate Argent.

 

She looks the same as he remembers, gaining only a more mature and vicious look to her. Her hair, still blonde, curls around her shoulders, enticing. Her lips are pouty, but stretched around a grin that holds too many teeth, that’s too sharp. Her eyes, blue, are as cold as ever. She moves with the grace of a cat and the wrath of a viper.

 

Deucalion, Kali, and Ennis turn their rage to Kate. Ennis and Kali advance towards Kate but jump back as she whips out a black stick. The end crackles and jumps with blue electricity.

 

“Now, now. That’s no way to treat a guest.” Kate pouts with a patronizing wobble of her lower lip. She then lets out a chuckle, swinging the cattle prod with ease and familiarity.

 

“What do you want, Argent?” Deucalion holds his body tight, close, closed off; his lips are thin and a grimace that barely holds a growl beneath the surface graces his face.

“To finish what I’ve started, of course. And to thank my new friends for helping me out. The, uh, ‘Beacon Hill Heroes’ was it?” Kate snorts quietly. “You guys sure have made my life a lot easier by getting rid of the Alphas. I’d take off my hat to you, but…” she waves a hand towards her hatless head. Her eyes quickly glance over Stiles, who is looking confused and angry, his sparks dimming on his hands. They jump to Scott next. He’s still standing tall, but it was easy to see the way his shoulders hunch slightly into himself. The air of confidence is gone. He’s looking just as lost as Stiles. When her eyes skip up to where Allison is perched on the second level, Kate waves.

 

“Hello, dear niece. How’s it going? God, it’s been like four years, hasn’t it?”

 

“Six, but who’s counting?” Allison’s voice sinks like an anchor to where they are stood, hard and cold.

 

Then Kate’s eyes find Derek’s, and the first bit of true emotion crosses her face. Her eyes widen in shock before her face settles into a self-satisfied smirk.

 

“Honey.” The grin spreads, back to the too sharp visage once more. “I heard you’ve been looking for me.” Chills creep down Derek’s spine, and he sees Stiles’ head snap towards him out of the corner of his eye. Derek feels the phantom touches of Kate’s hands down his arms, nails against his back, laughing breaths against his neck, breathy moans against his ears.

 

“Kate,” he grounds out. His claws prickle against his palms. The urge to punch, bite, tear, is overwhelming. He feels his eyes flash.

 

“Aw, boo. You know what you losing control does to me.” The end of her cattle prod crackles once more.

 

“Cut the shit, Kate. What is it that you want?” Deucalion takes another step closer to Kate, putting himself between Ennis and Kali and now only ten feet from Kate.

 

“I’m looking to, what’s the word, acquire your operation.” Deucalion frowns.

 

“You, of all people, want to acquire a werewolf operation?” Deucalion laughs. “You really have gone off the rails.” Kate’s pleasant face drops into a hard stare.

 

“What was it you just said? Don’t speak of what you don’t know.” Kate seems to mentally shake herself because her pleasant yet condescending face is back in full force. “Now, as my friends have mentioned, you don’t really have a leg to stand on. So what do you say?”

 

It seems like all the air was sucked out of the room. None of the BHH crew says a word, glances are tossed back and forth ranging from discomfort to confusion to annoyance. Ennis and Kali don’t move a muscle. Their positions are rigid in attack mode. Derek internally winces, sympathetic for having to hold that squatting position for so long. Deucalion doesn’t even seem to breathe. His back is ramrod straight, his entire body still. After a long pause, Deucalion lets out a long exhale.

 

“Really?” He shakes his head, two parts disbelieving, one part denial. Kate mirrors the motion.

 

“I was afraid you were going to say that.” Men out from the toy store behind Kate, loaded down with different things: most have guns, some bows and crossbows, others have knives. All in all, there are probably thirty men plus Kate. Ennis and Kali’s growls ratchet up a notch, and Deucalion flicks an arm out to the side, showing off his elongated claws.

 

“Over dramatic dick,” Derek hears Stiles mutter.

 

Ennis makes the first move, charging directly at Kate. One of the men on the right moves and intercepts Ennis, parrying left arm and driving a cattle prod into his left side. From there, all hell breaks loose. Kate’s men descend on Ennis, Kali, and Deucalion, and she stands in the middle of all of it, not moving unless it’s to dodge a stray blow.

 

Derek moves around the outside edge of the food court and watches as Stiles does the same thing. When they meet in the middle, Scott grabs both of them by the arm and pulls them back from the brawl by a few steps.

 

“What are we doing, boss?” Stiles asks, frowning and still facing the fight. He winces as one of Kate’s men goes down with a particularly nasty _crunch_ of his nose. Scott frowns.

 

“We could probably just le—”

 

“Guys, we’ve got incoming; I think it’s the Alphas’ guys,” Allison’s voice rings in their ears, a hint of tremor in the ice. Derek hears the thundering of feet as soon as she finishes. Fifteen men roll in, all human, all that the Alphas have been reduced to. They join the brawl with a thud. All that can be heard through the mall is the sound of skin hitting skin, groans and muted punches of breath, and the occasional supernatural growl. “If we don’t do something, there’s going to be a lot of people who die.” Scott sighs at Allison’s observation.

 

“Hot Shot, stay up there. Lay cover fire. Aim to incapacitate.” Scott turns to Stiles and Derek with a self-deprecating smile. “And we’ll do what we do best.” Scott takes a deep breath before cracking his neck and letting his transformation come over him, amber eyes popping from behind the black mask. Stiles claps his hands and a shower of sparks cascade to the ground. Derek’s own canines pop, relieved to be released after he’s spend the last twenty minutes holding them in. He feels his eyes bleed red.

 

Scott rushes off and into the fray while Derek sees Allison’s arrows start to rain from above. Before Stiles can sprint off, Derek holds him back with a hand on his arm. Stiles looks at him, frown marring his face.

 

“What?” Derek reels in his canines long enough to drop a kiss on Stiles’ temple.

 

“Be careful,” he replies gruffly, teeth dropping once more. Stiles’ eyes soften, and he grabs Derek’s hand and squeezes.

 

“You, too, sourwolf.” And with that, Stiles runs off into the brawl. Derek takes a moment to compose himself as Allison shoots down an EMP arrow, stalling all of Kate’s men’s guns. He runs in, slamming an elbow into one of the Alphas’ guys head, causing him to crumple immediately and for the guy he was fighting to turn his energy on Derek.

 

It’s messy; there’s no other way a three-way fight can go. It seems like no one can remember who they are supposed to be fighting, so it’s turned into more of a brawl than anything. This has worked in the BHH’s advantage, however, because no one seems to focus too hard on them. Derek works through the crowd systematically, dodging knives, punches, and the occasional arrow (“ _Sorry, I released it before you moved_ ”), sometimes getting clipped by one of the three, while trying to keep Stiles in his line of vision.

 

Stiles is definitely a sight to be seen when he fights. He is all fluid movements, fast motions, solids hits, all underlined by his magic, which Derek sees spark every once in a while, either pulling someone’s legs out from underneath them, putting extra force into Stiles’ punches, or sending a man or two flying.

 

Ducking a knife, Derek lands a solid hit to the man’s solar plexus causing the man the hunch over for breath. He grabs the back of the man’s head and drives his knee up and into his face. When he looks around, Derek sees that most of the mobsters are down, only one or two still swinging. Ennis is also out of the battle; Derek sees his body, torn up and riddled with wolvesbane slices, in the corner of the room. Kali is moving sluggishly as she fights Kate, who is fresh for a fight, not a drop of blood on her. Deucalion is fighting one of Kate’s men off to the side.

 

Derek’s got blood all over him, some his and some not. Scott looks similar to Derek, but Stiles looks worse off. He doesn’t have the healing help that the ‘wolves have. He’s peppered with cuts and tears, and beneath all of the blood on his skin, Stiles is pale. His magic is overwhelming him; it’s too much in too short amount of time.

 

The man backs him up even more, advancing towards what he sees as a weak prey, pushing Stiles closer to Kali and Kate’s fight. Derek jumps over an overturned table, grabs the man Stiles is fighting by the neck and throws him into a close by pillar, knocking him out on contact. When Derek turns around, Stiles smiles at him before hunching over, hands on his knees, and just breathing.

 

A _shnnk_ and gargle grabs Derek’s attention, but before Derek could turn and look, Stiles is being grabbed. Kali lays dead on the floor, throat slit by a wolfsbane blade if the blackened veins going up her neck are anything to go by. And Kate. Kate has Stiles in her arms, bloodied blade to Stiles’ throat. An accidental whimper tears itself from Derek’s throat. Kate’s head tilts, and her eyes brighten.

 

“Well, that’s interesting.” The hand in Stiles’ hair grips tighter, pulling Stiles closer to Kate so she can whisper in his ear. The ear with the transmitter. “So you’re with Derek, aye?” Stiles flinches at the accusation, struggling against the tight grip. “Is he still as good as I remember? For a ‘wolf, that is. Does he still beg for it? Is he still so desperate for someone to love him?” It’s worse, so much worse, being able to hear it so closely in his ear, like she’s whispering in his ear while also whispering in Stiles’. Derek takes a step towards them. Kate jerks the blade even closer to Stiles’ neck causing it to bite in and make Stiles bleed. The smell of Stiles’ blood, so strong and mixing with the scent of his anxiety, sets his teeth on edge. A growl rumbles low in his chest, echoed by Scott’s growl. “Ah, ah, ah, Derek. We can’t have that.”

 

“What do you want, Kate?” Derek manages around his mouth full of fangs.

 

“I want to know why you’re back, _pup_ ,” Kate growls through a fake smile. “I thought you’d get the idea after Laura.” The admission is like a shot through his chest. He feels the blood rush from his face, and Kate’s eyes widen comically, making her look as crazy as she is. “Oh, you didn’t know that was me, too? Pwoor bwabby.” She laughs widely. Rearranging her grip on Stiles, Kate digs the blade into Stiles neck more. Stiles winces. His pale skin has taken on an ashy, blue look. “Is this what it’s going to take to make you leave and for you to never come back? Your damn family has caused me and my family nothing but trouble. I even lost my damn niece to you and your people. So you’ll lose someone, too.” Stiles clears his throat, catching Kate off guard.

 

“If I may interject: I’m not the damsel in distress kinda guy.” Stiles slams his foot down on top of Kate’s, surprising her enough to loosen her grip. Stiles yanks out of her grip enough to duck, and an arrow flies from the second floor, catching Kate in the neck.

 

The shock is written all over her face as her hands grab helplessly at the protrusion, blood pouring over her hands as she gasps for breath. She falls to her knees still grabbing at the arrow until her eyes roll back into her head, and she falls over. The leeching noise of her heart beat slows to a stop.

 

Scott rushes to Stiles, who is still on his knees gasping for breath. Deucalion seems to have slipped way into the shadows because he’s no longer in food court. Allison drops from the second floor with a roll and glides over to where Scott is sitting with Stiles. She throws the corpse of her aunt an angry look before wiping away a single tear that’s fallen from her eye.

 

Scott’s comforting Stiles, rubbing a hand across his shoulders before grounding him with a palm on the back of his neck. Stiles smiles at Scott shakily. He looks so weak, so pale, so torn up, so far from the loud, energetic man he’s come to know.

 

Derek doesn’t even look back as he runs off. He doesn’t listen to the calls of his name. He doesn’t think. He just did what he does best.

 

Derek runs.

 

oXo

 

Hours later finds Derek back on the roof of his loft, not even taking the time to change out of his super suit, legs hanging heavily over the edge, looking down on the city Beacon Hills. This is not the town from his childhood by any means. It’s dirtier, rugged, and full of awful people. Derek can’t imagine anyone wanting to live here.

 

But he can’t imagine leaving this place.

 

Beacon Hills holds a lot of pain, so much pain, but for every terrible moment, there is at least one good memory, whether it be from his childhood with his family, the memories coming with less pain with each passing day, or from his time here, now. When he looks at the forest, he sees himself, Laura, and Cora sprinting through the trees. As he glances to the still running subway station, he sees his parents smiling as they cut the ribbon the day it opened. When he glances to the streets where mobsters are aplenty, Derek sees him and Stiles arguing with each other and fighting the bad guys.

 

Derek takes a deep breath, uncertain as to what to do. He doesn’t want to leave, but he doesn’t know if he can stay.

 

“I was worried about you.” Stiles’ voice brings Derek out of his internal battle.

 

“Sorry.” It’s a loaded word, and Stiles seems to get that. He plops down next to Derek, and Derek realizes that he hasn’t taken the time to change out of his super suit either. He must’ve either waited until he thought Derek felt like talking or else he was lost in his own thoughts. Stiles takes in the silence for a moment before stating, “I’m okay, you know.” The first option it is.

 

“But you almost weren’t,” Derek snaps before trying to reel in his emotions again. He sighs, defeated, head hanging. “I don’t know if I can take losing you too.” Those weren’t the words Derek expected to come out, but they were nothing but the truth. Stiles’ warm hand slides into his own, and their fingers lace together as naturally as breathing. The calming scent of vanilla and citrus and ozone wash over him, and Derek breathes in as deeply as he can, resisting the urge to bury his head in Stiles’ neck, to hide Stiles from the world.

 

“Derek, I’m not going anywhere. Not for a very long time if I had my way, alright? Who else is going to make sure Scott doesn’t accidentally trip going up the stairs or make sure my dad’s sticking to his diet or let Lydia know she deserves to be treated like a queen? That’s all me, buddy.” Stiles smiles at him; it’s the soft smile, the one meant just for Derek. “Besides, everyone knows that Captain American needs his Bucky Barnes.” Derek snorts at that causing Stiles’ eyes to crinkle at the edges as his smile widens. Derek pulls him into a firm kiss with a muttered, “you are such a dork.”

 

Sure, this might not be a forever thing, but it felt like one. And that’s practically the same thing anyway.

 

oXo

(“You would ship Stucky,” Derek teases as he strips Stiles’ super suit. Stiles’ hands freeze from where he’s unzipping Derek’s super suit. Derek cocks an eyebrow at him, wondering why he’s stopped.

 

“You know what shipping is?” Stiles crows in delight. Derek feels himself start to blush, so he busies himself with pushing Stiles’ hands away and getting himself out of his own super suit. “Oh my gosh, this is the best day of my life. Do you have a Tumblr? You totally do! Can I have your URL? Do you reblog Stucky stuff? Best day ever!” Derek tackles Stiles onto the mattress and shuts him up by kissing him absolutely filthily.

 

After stripping both of themselves down and reaching for the lube, Stiles reaches up and whispers in Derek’s ear, “Fuck me, Sarge. That’s an order.”

 

Derek pushes a cackling Stiles off the mattress, and absolutely does not laugh. No matter what Stiles says.)

**Author's Note:**

> If you read all the way til the end: THANK YOU. This has been a wild journey to 20k words, and I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Come hang out with me on Tumblr, I'm sydburf

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [No Capes [Fanart]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854095) by [Baesarzeppeli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baesarzeppeli/pseuds/Baesarzeppeli)




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